Scrambled Eggs

Scrambled Eggs is a short story I wrote about a woman called Jane and her want to be without life and the ways she might get there.

Submitted: January 05, 2014

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Submitted: January 05, 2014

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Scrambled Eggs
Written by Craig Longford

Jane stared at those eggs. Center of the plate surrounded by several pieces of toast, cut
in to soldiers.
They surrounded the egg, made sure the egg couldn’t get free. That’s how Jane felt.

Jane lived alone, she had no friends, no family, no one for her to be with. At least that’s how it was in
her own head.
The world had abandoned her, left her for dead. Dreams crushed and energy depleted. She often pondered over her eggs what the world would be like once she had gone.

She thought of all the ways she could leave her existence, how she could just get away. Jane remembered
the time were starting again seemed possible, but now the only light she could see was the end.

Lifting the knife from the table, she conjured up many ways she would use it to end it all.

A quick few slashes across the wrists, just before the pain stopped her, it would be enough to
bleed.

She thought about how she could plunge the knife into her own heart, just missing the ribs to make sure it
was a clean cut. Or the throat, yes the throat. A quick slice straight across, it would only need one.

Placing the knife back down on the table, the blade shone in the sunlight pouring through the kitchen
windows. Taking her hand away, she looked at those eggs.

The heat of those eggs caused steam to dance as she watched them. They never moved, but she already knew
that.

As she watched the eggs, she thought about walking in front of a car.

She would stand on the side of the road, waiting for a passing car and just step out. She imagined her
body being thrown into the air, her twisted remains landing in a rag doll fashion across the bonnet before being hurdled down to the cold concrete of the road.

Passes by would come and gorp at her as she lay there, last of life leaving her.

Traffic would back up and people would be late, but she didn’t care. She knew it was what had to
happen.

Snapping back to reality, her eggs now cold. The butter on the toast had merged completely. The toast had
become soggy and unappealing.

Jane imagined a bridge, she would walk by the bridge, just shift her weight over the safety rail. No one
would have chance to stop her, down she would fall but to what end?

Would it be water at the bottom? Maybe she would do it over a motorway. No water there..

What if she took sleeping pills, waited for them to take effect and then jump in to the river. She
wouldn’t be able to struggle, she would just drift off into nothing.

She thought of fish, nibbling at her body as she lay there cold and wet, the water filling her
lungs.

The clock chimed 8 o’clock, the sound waking Jane from her thoughts. As she looked up, she knew it was
that time again, time for work.

She got up from the table, leaving the now cold eggs and headed out of the door. Click went the
lock.

Did she return that evening? I don’t know, maybe she lived her dream.

The only sure thing, was maybe all Jane needed was a little ketchup in her life.